^^ average pirate ships ^^

— Reginald —

I spent most of the next month learning; learning to be a Sailor, or a 'Salt', learning to walk on an ever-tilting deck in a perpetual Storm, and learning to write and craft inside a small, cramped closet that the doctor had given me for a laboratory, as his apprentice.

It was barely six feet wide and twice as long, having originally been a storage for his many proper attires, I suspected, and coated in a thin layer of black iron; thus making it fire-safe, thankfully, as most of my work involved fires of any number of sorts.

We made several stops along the coasts of England, France, and Iberia, to gather messages and parcels for delivery, and I used these stops to gather, -by way of my own dwindling personal funds,- the materials for Benjamin's Gear.

He would require a proper Knife, one that was consecrated in the ways that would kill most any monster or demon, pagan or otherwise, -I have something I believe will work quite well, for that,- as well as a number of charms to protect himself, of various faiths and peoples. Clothes, similarly consecrated, would usually follow, but I had no idea how such clothes would manage, with his lifestyle: The salt of the ocean, after all, would destroy almost all of the enchantments, and the man constantly dives into the ocean, even going so far as to dive under for long periods of time, to loot the corpses of ships that'd sank into the depths.

Once, whilst he was under the water, a great cloud of red blood floated to the surface, and I'd worried for his life most fiercely, only for him to come to the surface, dragging onto a set of hooks in the water a great toothed beast, easily triple his body's length. This was the mighty 'Shark', which I had only ever read described and seen -I thought- exaggerated sketches of in anatomy books. It was hoisted up onto the deck by a rather clever wooden crane, and, with great reverence, fed to Cleo by the crew.

To be honest, I feared for his death because I would have lost my chance for redemption with the Order, and the revelation of my selfishness was a blow that I reflected upon whilst deeply, deeply ashamed of myself. As I write this, I again feel a sharp twinge of shame; Benjamin has been very kind to me, teaching me his ways with a patience that many wise men would call Sage-like. Still, my heart is perhaps unduly hardened against the making of friends; I have lost so many, in my short life. I wonder: How do the others do this for so long, and yet not turn to lives as mute, angry old men? How do they stand so tall, with so many souls on their backs?

Either way, to the Ship, and my work here: At first, I'd thought my cold reception amongst the crew was personal; that a Priest was not welcome aboard this vessel full of bawdy drunks and rough, salt-stained men. I was soon disabused of that notion, in the form of a second example. In London, we'd traded a very experienced man to a Naval Vessel in need of a new Gunnery Master, and received six young souls, -far younger than me, even, each around 11 or 12 summers,- in exchange, for 'seasoning'.

The crew looked the six boys over that morning, an eerily silent crowd in the Mist, then the captain had brusquely set the boys to cleaning, releasing me from the task and giving me another. They'd seemed incredibly surprised by the woman everyone respectfully called 'Captain' or 'Sir', but at the blank stares of those they asked about it, they ceased their questioning, and followed orders as enthusiastically as they could, intent on pleasing the supposedly unimpressed, massive men.

I saw it for what it was, though, as they taught the boys without many words, small tricks and skills that made their lives easier. I saw the swift improvement, which I'd thought a testament to my own skill, -now I saw the horribly arrogant assumption as it was,- and soon they were no longer falling and tripping every time we crested a wave or dropped into the troughs. These men, as brusque as they seem, have perfected training new sailors, to the point that the Royal Navy trusted them enough to casually 'trade' them six recruits, in exchange for one experienced gunner, who was instantly trusted with a position of authority, and one such as commanding the guns of a naval vessel, easily the most guarded position of all.

Of them all, I avoid only one as if the plague; Miss Jaime Polkanis, the Ship's Treasurer, Clerk, and apparently the resident temptress. She seems to delight in hunting me like a shark, ever circling, only to break off the moment I respond unfavorably. A twisted respect for consent, I suppose, one that is curiously appreciated. Either way, she is a presumptuous bother, and I do not know how to make it known, before she uncovers my secrets in some moment of weakness."

A knock on the door made me halt my muttering and writing, and I answered, opening the slide which allowed sound and a little light through the door. "Yes?" I asked curiously.

"The Captain sent me to hail ye, Lad. Seems we're almost in sight of Gibraltar, and we've reports of heavy pirating in these waters. They'd like a word, methinks." One of the crew, an older man with salt-puckered skin and permanently crinkled eyes, -who was, paradoxically, one of the Crowsmen, who watched for enemy ships in the Crows Nest,- spoke through the door.

"Thank you, Gerald. I'll be right up to them." I nodded and marked the end of my journal entry with the summons, then paused when he spoke again.

"And best to sharpen your knives, while you've time... I've got a feeling about today." He muttered, then his voice faded as he walked away.

I hummed, and followed his advice; not because I believed his Gut was a proper prophecy-tool, but because it was good practice to keep knives sharp either way. The various knives I kept on my person, from my boot knife to my eating knife to my long dagger for hunting, they all received a fair amount of attention, daily. A morning ritual of mine, one I was happy I could continue, was to sharpen them while watching the sunrise, though the training sessions with my father afterward were replaced by working alongside the crew, or cleaning the ship, then working with Benjamin and Doctor Cole, learning alongside the young boys to read the maps, or teaching them first aid with the Doctor.

Aware of the passing time, I finished the last knife quickly, and cleaned up my desk, marking down some last scribbled thoughts and then burning the pages, thus sending them to the predetermined destination, my office in the Krags. I'd had the full book of pages sent to me via the fire, so as to send them back to one location, where I hoped to gather them and write a full journal one day. If I died before my children were grown, as was custom for my Order, I knew, I'd like them to know me in some fashion, even though I was gone.

I shook the maudlin thoughts away with difficulty, and pulled on my new Coat, a heavy, hardened leather Sailor's Dustcoat that offered a decent amount of protection from a variety of attacks. Benjamin hadn't seemed to think of it as any important gift, but to me, and most raised as I was, this coat was akin to a Naming Day gift, or an AllSaints offering.

The Brig was empty of people, as always, when I exited the closet, locking it behind me, but I frowned at the sound of pounding feet above me, racing to and fro frantically. The door gave way easily, up onto the main deck, but I still locked it properly behind me, -a good habit that Ben had actually seemed impressed by, a rare sight,- and looked about for the source of the commotion.

Ben noticed me, standing to the left of the Captain's wheel, and waved me up, not trying to yell over the shouted instructions as the ship was readied for something.

"What's all the ruckus? Why wasn't I summoned?" I asked, slightly peeved.

He raised an eyebrow. "We did summon you. Didn't Gerald say we wanted you?"

I sighed. "He said you 'might want to talk'."

He nodded. "Gerald always underestimates, remember that. And as for the ruckus, we've spotted a vessel in distress, with a pirate vessel coming alongside to board." He pointed me to our bow, where we were chasing down two smaller vessels, the smallest flying a red flag and a tricolor with the colors of France.

"Hmm... isn't a red flag-"

"Fuck off back whence you came? Yes. I admire the captain, whoever he is." Captain Cole smirked, and bellowed out an order at one of the boys, who was struggling to coil and stow a stray line on the windy, wet deck. "STOW THAT LINE PROPERLY, LAD, OR YOU GO INTO THE DRINK WITH IT!!!"

He flinched and snapped a hasty salute, starting over swiftly.

I looked at Benjamin, then Cleo in his collar. "And our plan for the pirates? Is it a cannon battle, or swords? Or Cleo?"

She smirked at me, and purred audibly. "Oh, it's to be swords, most likely. Such uncivilized behavior is, of course, beneath me."

"Of course, Lady Cleopatra." I smiled, and looked back at Benjamin. "So?"

"As she said. We wouldn't waste powder on a single pirate ship-"

"SHIPS SIGHTED OFF THE STARBOARD AND LEEWARD SIDES, CAPTAIN!!! PIRATE COLORS!!!" The lookout roared, and I frowned.

"This is a trap. That small ship probably isn't even French!" I growled.

Adrian nodded. "You're probably Correct... four on one, however, that seems excessive."

"Perhaps they knew I was aboard? Four ships seems a decent snack." Cleo chuckled.

"Would you like to kill them, then? Or shall I hunt them for you?" Ben asked her testily.

She seemed unconcerned, shrugging. "I can hunt for myself, dearest, but since you So obligingly offered..."

He grumbled a few curses in a language I didn't know, and sighed. "Captain, shall we let loose the Guns?"

"Oh yes... four on one is clearly enough to warrant the Powder!" She grinned savagely, and roared a command, audible everywhere on the ship. "BATTLE STATIONS!!! 48 AND 24 POUND CANNONS, READY!!! WARNING SHOTS, FOUR, FIRE WHEN READY!!!"

Almost immediately, a string of four echoing, cacophonous blasts assaulted my ears, deafening me entirely, it seemed, until I was slowly able to hear her yelling again.

"Captain, the ship on the leeward seems to have two cannons on the deck, seems to be 24 pounders... orders?" Benjamin asked, and I noticed he wasn't using a telescope, but rather simply staring, his eyes normal, except for a very clear ring of gold around the iris. He was developing his bond with Cleo much quicker than I'd expected, and was very soon to be gaining the full abilities of a full-blooded Hunter, it seemed.

The sound of two more cannon-blasts, smaller in comparison than the four big ones from before, distracted me from my thoughts, and I pulled Ben by the shoulder on instinct alone, leaning backwards; a small grey blur passed my vision at an angle, missing all three of us, -myself, Ben, and the Captain,- and instead slamming into the railing, and smashing a good piece of it. Luckily, it didn't seem to have enough power to go through the hearty oaken rail, instead ricocheting and bouncing around on the deck, a white-hot ball of 'Bugger Off', special delivery.

"Well that was uncomfortably close." I growled, wiggling a pinky in my left ear, where the ringing had yet to stop.

"Indeed, it was. GUNNERS!!! RETURN FIRE ON THE LEEWARD VESSEL NOW!!! SEND THEM TO MEET OLD SALT JACK!!!" Aiden roared, and turned us a little so that we could get a full broadside out at them.

"And if they have slaves in the bellies of those ships, Captain?" Ben frowned.

She shook her head. "We're a first-rate, three-deck, three-mast, 131-gun ship of the line. They wouldn't be attacking us if they had already found a payday, Ben. FIRE WHEN READY!!!"

I covered my ears tightly, and the cannons erupted in what would be a beautiful synchronicity, -one after the other until all 62 cannons on that side had fired,- were it not for the atrocious amount of sound.

I turned to view the damage, and gasped quietly at the view of the completely destroyed ship, already sinking rapidly into the water. The survivors in the water, of which there weren't many, were fighting to swim away from some unseen force, pulling them through the water after the ship; none that I could see lasted longer than twenty seconds.

The wreckage disappeared entirely in less than a minute. "Holy Mary, Mother of God..." I shook my head in horrified amazement, looking to the other three ships for signs of surrender.

Instead, the 'french' ship that had been the bait dropped the tricolors, leaving the red 'fight' colors up, and began to double back, apparently to attack us, surprisingly. The smallest ship seemed the most daring, which made me nervous, and I could tell Adrian didn't like it, either.

"Ready the men to rebuff boarders, Ben, and send those boys into the rigging for one reason or another." Adrian murmured quietly, to my surprise, and then turned the wheel, coming back broadside to the other approaching ship. It broke a different direction immediately, realizing its dilemma and witnessing the fate of the other, bigger ship. "TARGET PRACTICE, LADS!!! STARBOARD SHIP, READY?!?!?"

The gunnery master on the deck below us waited as we crested a wave, tilting right at the enemy ship, then whistled piercingly, and I covered my ears as another devastating wave of iron projectiles shredded that ship as well, turning it into so much floating timber.

"LADS, SEND THE RATS INTO THE RIGGINGS, THEY'LL ONLY GET IN OUR WAY! PREPARE TO TOSS BOARDERS!!!" Ben roared, while simply chucking one of the boys bodily into the rigging, fifteen feet directly over his head. While everyone stared at him for the monstrous display of physical strength, he snarled at them harshly, and they all began to move again, sending the young boys into the rigging and drawing short Naval Hangers or a few of them having Greek or Egyptian blades, all focusing on the ship that was approaching swiftly.

It was moving far too quickly for anything except a steam or screw-driven ship, instead of a sailing ship, like the others, meaning it was relatively new. It was  an odd choice for a pirate vessel, as it required Coal to operate, and coal wasn't cheap at all. That was the main reason why this ship's 820 horsepower steam engine burned a type of sea-salt, oddly enough; it smelled quite pleasant when the smoke was piped out over the deck.

The ship that had been pursuing it, -now clearly fake, as the littler one could've gotten away any time it wanted,- slowly turned towards us, and I flinched at the sight of twelve mid-sized cannons on its top deck, six of which were currently turned towards us.

"Captain, that ship has twelve mid-sized cannons on deck, pointed right at us!" I warned Aidan swiftly, and ducked as six of them went off, though three of the shots didn't even come near us, as they hadn't turned far enough, and the other three crashed through the netting and rigging over the bow, not hitting anything that I could see.

Then I heard a delayed screech, as one of the boys fell out of the riggings, his left foot missing entirely. I rushed forward without more than a split-second thought, and ducked another ball that came again too close, ruffling my hair and throwing it into my face.

I tied it back with a businesslike proficiency, then applied a tourniquet to his leg, checking for breaks and other damage. Finding nothing, I poured rum from my belt flask onto the wound, then took a lantern, and pressed the white-hot metal pan to the sterile wound, cauterizing it swiftly. When he screamed in pain, I knocked him out with a clean punch to the jaw, which I knew he'd appreciate when he woke up. Then I snuffed the flames on his new stump, and whistled at one of the nearby sailors to get his attention. "Take him to the Doctor quickly, then come back!"

He nodded, throwing the boy onto his shoulders like a sack of potatoes, and hustled up the steps into the doctor's lab.

A sound behind me had me turning, and I hissed in annoyance and pain as a blade just barely managed to clip my chest, as I jumped back out of the way. The owner of the blade, a soaking wet Greek man with patchwork leather armor and a crazed look in his eyes, lunged again, as I heard Ben yell at the men near me to assist me.

I breathed deeply, leaning out of the way of the slashing, curved blade, and calmly grabbed his wrist, driving my dagger up into his brain through the bottom of his jaw, one of the only important places that wasn't armored properly. Hie eyes widened in shock, and he dropped slowly to his knees as I lowered him, finally releasing the body as his eyes went very, very cold, staring up at me while the last bits of life fled his body.

"Thaaaat's nightmare fuel..." I murmured sarcastically, trying to distract myself from the heaving of my stomach, to no avail, as I puked a little in my mouth. I swallowed back the disgusting bile, refusing to vomit just because I'd killed a man. Not a Demon, or a Beast. A Man.

I shook my head, and turned to the others, most of whom were staring at me in dawning respect, -or awe, in the case of the remaining boys in the rigging, and even some of the other sailors,- before picking up his sword. "There's more coming! Get ready!" I snapped at them, and walked through them towards the other side. I barely registered that they moved to make room for me now, as I mechanically cleaned my dagger, sheathing it slowly.